Reality
by Alias Blackclaw
Summary: SH4: Henry/Eileen Oneshot He tried so much to recede from reality in the past, and engross himself in his photography, but now… the surreal had stolen him.


A/N: (Set in **Silent Hill 4: The Room.** In the nightmare Ashfield Apartments, after meeting with Joseph. First published fanfiction, wooo! :D)

Silent Hill 4

**-Reality-**

"The Mother Reborn", that's what Joseph called her. Eileen Galvin was a vessel like the rest of the sorry victims. He didn't want to believe this at all. He didn't want to believe that this woman was infected with Walter Sullivan's sick game.

She didn't deserve this hell… She was too kind, too young, and now she was too far nestled into the folds of some greasy nightmare.

He watched her in that rare moment of peace. Eileen slept (a miracle) in front of him, head lulled to the side on the makeshift nest they had put together. It was just a few rags and blankets that were around the corrupted apartment complex, but it was absolutely gorgeous to them both. He counted it as a double miracle that not only did they find something that wasn't covered in blood or piss, but they also found a little niche in one of the rooms to settle in for a moment. It was even more miraculous that Eileen actually was able to close her eyes.

The man shifted in the mess of rags as if it would help his general discomfort. Of course, nothing would help in the long run, but the calming effect at the moment was instantaneous. Watching Eileen was his unintentional vice, his own strange brand of relaxation. Every breath she took was gentle and easily a relief (and disbelief). She was alive and as attached to reality as he was, the reason for his borderline obsessive watchfulness. Nightmare or not, Eileen was a constant promise of a better reality. Everything about her was real, from her dark hair to her toes (which actually looked quite like they were incredibly uncomfortable shoved in a pair of heels). She had very elaborate heels which matched her party dress perfectly, but they could not have been any sort of comfortable to run away from monsters in.

Henry was almost afraid to touch her, intimidated. He was never "good" with the opposite sex, and had no remote idea of what "good" even was. It was perhaps only natural to be absolutely paralyzed for a moment, his fingers extended and barely brushing Eileen's thin ankle. God, she had such beautiful features. He wasn't a creeper, he was a photographer with an eye for beauty. Eileen was beautiful. Even this ankle he wanted so badly to just relieve of the oppressing shoe, seemed too perfect to touch with his dirty fingers. She must have been in pain from her heels… She did have an awful limp.

The thought that she was in pain brought the courage he needed. His fingers drew a small few lines down her ankle, running into the plastic purple strap. He felt completely perverted for doing this, however innocent his intentions were. Simply unclicking the strap of her shoe felt kind of invasive, and intimate. Sleeping Eileen twitched and he bit his lip, pulling lightly on the strap. It was like removing Cinderella's precious (but probably painful) slipper, being careful not to wake the Sleeping Beauty in the process. Henry placed the shoe on the ground, grimacing at Eileen's bruised and blistered foot. It was angry and a multitude of purples and reds, and he felt awful for it. He was surprised that she wasn't bleeding from all the intense pressure she had to put on her feet. The other shoe came off without any more hesitation. Henry set her feet upon the blanket and leaned back against the cold wall.

At least she looked more comfortable now… Not that anyone could be comfortable in their situation, but at least she seemed it.

"Eileen" He hung his head, lip curled in a hopeless frown. She didn't deserve something ghastly worming into her, possessing her. The Mother Reborn, the sole survivor of Walter's attacks, and the woman suffering before him had already been through enough.

Eileen murmured something in her sleep, something unintelligible, and he looked up to watch the gentle parting of her lips. He was fascinated. Even though there was a red smear of lipstick over her mouth, it didn't make her lips any less flawless. It was unknown to him to not have chapped lips, but hers were completely smooth. Did she use Vaseline or chapstick by the pound? No, it wouldn't be like her to go overboard with that. She was too tasteful with her makeup. No, it wasn't any beauty product she used. She was just naturally beautiful.

Such a beauty in front of him, and he was just a tramp. The typical tale, wasn't it? He was infatuated, smitten, strung up by Cupid and goaded by Aphrodite's kisses. He was in love with his neighbor, in love with Eileen. He watched her when she left the complex to go out, how her outgoing nature extended like fine tapestry, weaving a picture that he became familiar with over the short time he was at Ashfield Heights. She had friends, many coworkers, possibly distant relations, and it all revealed her. Interactions made it known that she was kindly, intelligent, a really lovely girl all around. He had seen her sometimes in the park, looking over the pond in thought, and he almost wanted to ask her what was on her mind. Like the wallpaper on the wall, he pulled himself into the monotonous background instead. The first person to greet him when he moved into room 302 was Eileen, and her and Frank were the only people who could remember anything about the quiet occupant Mr. Henry Townshend.

Eileen was special indeed. She was the strange person who took the care to **care**. He tried so much to recede from reality in the past, and engross himself in his photography, but now… the surreal had stolen him. With every breath he wished to return to the comfort of the life of a regular person. Every squelching step he took in this world, he would look back to see if Eileen was alright. Never more in his life did he regret his seclusion from reality. If anyone cared more about the nobody named Henry, maybe he wouldn't be here. Maybe they all would have been safer.

He watched Eileen sleep and regretted his decision. Eileen was single, Eileen was there, Eileen held no qualms against… anybody really. Why, oh why, was he so against getting closer to this woman before?

Cowering, solitary Henry was a very foolish man. They were running for their lives in a mutated and gross dimension, now he was so close that he could smell her favorite flowery perfume, and he couldn't say much more than her name?

His shaggy brown hair hid whatever expression danced over the thin whiskery face. All he could do was protect her? Why? Why was he so terrified of being more than simply her bodyguard?

She would probably reject him…

He was staring at her in contemplation. It was a decision he wanted to make. He wanted, for the first time, to no longer live in his own world. He wanted to dip his hands into the sink at home and simply feel the water run over his fingertips.

His hands reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face, putting much effort to keep from shaking. He shook from the anxiety, the regret, and most of all, the fear of waking her, but he fought desperately not to. Her bandaged eye was avoided, he only touched her cheek, only this and nothing more. Eileen didn't budge, even when he stroked his thumb across her elegant jaw line. It was a gesture of mixed affection and pity, the need to do something, anything, to give her that knowledge that she wasn't alone. She slept as if she had pricked her finger on a warped wheel. It was amazing.

His infatuation was no revelation. He knew we was absolutely consumed by the want to taste reality again, and he knew Eileen almost epitomized that reality. Was it any surprise that he became so very attached to not only the person whom cared enough to know his name? Was it any surprise to succumb to her representation of that real world?

A moment of peace like this one was priceless and precious. Hypnotized by his own thoughts and affections, he closed his distant eyes, breathing her name in a sigh.

Did it matter, truly? Did it matter if he leaned forward, his chapped lips pursed and pressing lightly on Eileen's perfect ones. The kiss was brief, light, and without malicious or lewd intent. It was the promise, the pledge, and also the complete confession. It mattered not that she was Aurora, that they were sitting in the bowels of some horrifying fairy tale. It didn't matter that she was "The Mother Reborn", and he was "The Receiver". It didn't matter that they were destined to die as livestock, nothing more. That's why this one kiss mattered the most.

"I'll… protect you… Eileen." he whispered against her lips, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. She looked more comfortable like this, not curled up against a musty wall like an unborn fetus. He leaned back, eyes clenched shut, just holding her, holding his sanity, holding his promise, and holding his reality.

_They were not going to die._


End file.
